Mark Watney and the Martian Dragon Sanctuary
by Othalla
Summary: Mark Watney is, apparently, not the first human to colonize Mars. gen but pre Mark Watney/Harry Potter


Mark sits his skinny ass in the rover and drives. Just barely remembers to take his gloves off along with his helmet. He needs to test the new hole he made in the roof, he needs to see that it still fucking rolls when he press go, whatever.

It's what he used to do back on Earth, when the walls started to close in on him and the urge to claw through his skin or punch someone got too much.

He needs to be away from the fucking hab, from the tiny living space that he's been forced to call home for the last too fucking long instead of the just below a month it was supposed to be. The first colonizer of the big red round thing in the sky some asshole named Mars. And Mars? Mars is really fucking big, right. Surely somewhere out in the red wasteland there is a place that makes him not want to take his helmet off.

So he drives. Like a really impotently aggressive white dude with a truckload of road rage. Swearing at rocks that's been there for millennia like they jumped out in front of him, giving the finger to the sun when it gets in his fucking eyes, maybe slamming his fist against the wheel one or ten times. Burning himself out here so that he doesn't do it where people can see it on satellite.

He's exhausted when he stops an hour later in bumfuck nowhere Mars. The local sights include (red) rocks, more (red) rocks, jagged (red) rocks that reach way up in the sky and look like they want to kill a man, and dirt. Lovely.

Mark stands for about a minute, wondering if that one (red) rock over there might actually be a petrified Martian or if it was just really unlucky when god created this place, but then he decides that he doesn't actually give a shit and lies down, because why the fuck not.

The sky is not very interesting when you've seen it a hundred or so too many times and are all out of fucks to give, but at least it's pretty, in an otherworldly (hah) sort of way. No clouds to block the view of the sun shining down right on him. He can almost feel it warming his skin, imagines it embracing him and shielding him of the outside conditions of a planet not meant to live on even if potatoes grow there if forced to.

Potatoes are fucked up, useful and not too yucky (yet) but still fucking creepy. They're also grown out of Mark's shit, so it's not exactly surprising.

Mark's ass is not the nicest place to be on Earth (and Mars), no matter what Brett the short-lived roommate from college liked to say when he was balls deep in it trying to find Mark's prostate and never really managing. Fucking Brett, Mark should have thrown his ass out sooner. Moved on to greener pastures and better orgasms.

Fucking Brett was the worst. Almost up there with his potato diet extreme that is still, last he heard anyway, spreading like wildfire over the dietary fads on Earth, which is a bit horrifying. Like, solidarity? Sure go ahead, but there should be some limits. When Mark gets back to Earth he is definitely going to use his superhero status to try and ban the potato, a much better legacy than having the next fifty offshoots of the starchy devil being named after him.

Fucking potatoes.

Fucking NASA.

Fucking everything.

Mark tries to pretend, sometimes, that it doesn't get to him. Being here, alone. Makes good for the camera, tries to be a fairly upbeat asshole whenever he gets to interact with anyone at all through the most long distance texting shit ever. It's a reflex from years of being a sarcastic jackass, from gathering up his shit and moving when things get too much. From running from his problems all his goddamn life, because sticking his face in the ground is preferable to not being completely perfect and adult.

Of course they're all gonna fucking catch up to him on Mars, the last station on humanities road to space.

He pretends he doesn't cry, because it is a fucking truth that if you pretend hard enough someday out there in the way distant future it's gonna be true and not an act anymore. And Mark got years left to live, even middle-aged as he is, so it's still fucking possible that it'll go that way.

Hopefully.

He rolls over on his stomach and punches the (red) ground a few times as he screams at it a bit. It's not like anyone will ever know. It's even a fairly safe way to work out his frustration, the gloves are made to take a fair amount of punishing and the ground isn't exactly putting up a good fight.

After exhausting himself he curls up on his side and wraps himself in his arms. He's facing away from the rover, the sun barely a hint at the edge of his vision, and the (red) mountains in the distance aren't familiar even as he tries to pretend, so he closes his eyes.

And that, just when his eyelashes meet in the middle and muddies up his vision, is when he sees it. Small, moving and not not red.

Alive.

Mark gasps and scrambles to a sitting position, not at all believing what he sees, even though it's moving toward him with a speed that shouldn't be possible. Not on Mars, where nothing should be moving at all, and not on Earth, where dragons have not yet stepped out of mythology.

But that is a fucking dragon coming soaring through the sky, right at Mark.

A motherfucking dragon.

Mark's probably hallucinating. Which is weird, because he shouldn't be quite at that stage yet and he's also run out of the good drugs. But yeah. Dragons weren't real when Mark left Earth and NASA would tell him if that had changed. Probably tell him. If they felt like it.

Mark's got a few trust issues after they failed to inform his team he was alive.

The dragon lands a few meters away from him. The ground quakes (quakes!) and Mark is feeling very small at the moment because the dragon is as big as fucking tank. Big and green and looking like it could kill a man, like, yesterday.

Mark doesn't really know how to even begin coping with this. Hallucination or not.

(Dragon.)

Then something moves on top of the dragon, and fucking hell, that's a person. A human. On a dragon. On Mars. HOW?

"That's a dragon," Mark says like the intellectual man he is, not at all stating the obvious.

"Yep," says the man sitting on the dragon. And should the D in dragon be capitalized? It kinda feels like it fits the situation. Dragon. DRAGON. Real living motherfucking Dragon.

On Mars.

Fucking Brett.

"Why is there a dragon on Mars?" Mark's voice go up a bit at the end but, well, he considers himself justified. Considering the situation. Dragon.

"Well," the man says and fucking scratches his chin, like he's thinking really hard, what even. "It was getting rather crowded on Earth and dragons aren't the most inconspicuous of creatures. Kinda big, regularly flattens buildings and all that. Breathes fire."

"You don't say." Now Mark sounds faint. He kinda is, reality shifting on its axis and all that. Good riddance he's sitting down or he'd be falling down.

The man nods. "The baby boom ten years ago really threw us for a loop, dragons fornicating like bunnies and woops all the sanctuaries were overcrowded. Good thing because they weren't on the verge of extinction anymore. Bad news because Hermione really didn't like people obliviating muggles every other minute. Mars seemed an appropriate place to relocate too. Pretty low on humans usually."

Mark doesn't really know what to focus on. Dragons having big enough numbers that they don't fit on earth or how obliviating sounds fucking ominous or what the fuck muggles are supposed to be. He has a nagging feeling it's meant for people like, well, Mark. Who are very unaware of Dragons actually being a Thing.

He doesn't feel like he's hallucinating.

"Hermione?" he says. Because why the fuck not. Repeating shit while sounding like he's about to pass out is his thing now apparently.

"Mm, she doesn't really like asinine paperwork, which is pretty much all she ever gets, but back then it was, like, hilariously much of it. And she had to deal with every single incident, because most officials are a bit scared of her to be honest, so yeah. Lucky break for me that I quit while I was ahead. Because I'm on Mars while she's stuck on Earth being the Head of the Magical Everything. Bureaucracy is a bitch."

"It definitely is," Mark says, because truth. "But magic, huh. That's, real?" Mark is really glad he's sitting down, has he mentioned that before? Because he's really really glad he's sitting down.

"Magic is real, yes."

"Didn't really know that."

"Well, no, you wouldn't. Being a muggle and all that. Magicals aren't really that fond of telling you guys much of anything. Which, well, it's not like you're missing out on too much. We're kinda behind to be honest."

"I see," Mark really really doesn't, but whatever. "But you're telling me? And we won't get in trouble for that? Because I'm telling you, dude, that whole obliviating thing sounds pretty unpleasant and I'd just, rather not."

"Well, we're on Mars. I figure the statute of secrecy doesn't really apply on interstellar levels. So eh, we're fine. Probably."

Mark graciously pretends he didn't hear the last part. For his remaining sanity if nothing else.

"Ok. That's, well, I don't know what this is, great? I'm still kinda caught up on the Dragon staring at me to be honest. He looks like he wanna eat me or something. I think I'd taste really bad in this suit and maybe wreak havoc on his intestines. And you know what they say about diarrhea, never fun."

The man laughs and claps his hand on the side of the Dragon. "This old dude? Nah, he's pretty particular with what he eat on a good day. He won't eat you unless you force him. If you see a tiny grey one, though, with a horn on his head about this big," the man gestures with his hands, "then you better hope you've hidden well or someone else is nearby. We've not really got his people eating habits under control yet."

Mark gapes for about a minute, not sure just how to react to that statement.

"It's fine though, he's on lockdown. Stuck in his pen with a guard even, he's not getting at you any time soon."

"I'd rather he'd not get me at all, but sure, let's go with soon."

The man nods, apparently okay with that answer, and just because he seems so blaze about this whole situation (DRAGONS! MARS! MAGIC! HOW WHY WHAT!) Mark feels extremely justified when he says, "I'm Mark, Mark Watney, just in case you need something to be put on a tombstone in the foreseeable future."

"Good to know," the man says, "I'm Harry."

"Nice to meet you, Harry. And Dragon," Mark adds, because better safe than sorry.

Harry smiles, crowfeet at the corners of his eyes and holy shit, he's kinda attractive when he's not just a weird dude on a dragon. And also, Mark's just realizing this but give him a break, Harry is an actual person. A person. On Mars. Who is somehow surviving without protective gear or anything but whatever, a person! On Mars! Which makes Mark not alone! On Mars!

"His name's Maurice."

"Maurice? Weird name for a beastly Dragon, but sure. Hi Maurice, nice to meet you. Or something." Mark just barely manages to restrain the urge to hold out his hand, which, good, because that would have been awkward.

Harry laughs, loud and good natured, and Maurice the Dragon gives a huff, sounding just a bit put upon but not really caring enough to give a damn. Mark finds that he likes being insignificant. In this particular moment, at least.

"Luna's gonna love you," Harry says. He catches Mark's face, and Mark's not really certain how that looks right now, and smirks. "You'll like her, too, no worries. Just be prepared for it being weird. It's the local specialty in these parts."

"I'm not surprised," Mark says, trying for deadpan. Harry laughs again so he probably didn't fail too bad. Or Harry just likes laughing, which seems true enough with the laugh lines.

"Come on then, hop on up. We've a date with a pretty blonde lady and the dragons aren't gonna watch themselves." Harry kicks Maurice the Dragon, which is terrifying, and Maurice the Dragon turns his side to Mark. And oh, there's a harness. On a Dragon.

"You want me to sit on a Dragon. Maurice the Dragon." Mark doesn't know how to compute this. "Really?"

"Yep. And then we'll fly over to that place over there," he points at the jagged (red) rocks that reach way up in the sky and look like they could kill a man, "and I'll let Hermione yell at me for a while. It'll be fun, you'll see."

"Or we could go to my place?" Mark offers, because while Dragons are cool and all, they're also terrifying and flying just sounds really unsafe ok? Ok. He's maybe not over the shock stage just yet.

"Well, we could do that. But my place got food, and from the looks of it, I'm pretty certain yours doesn't."

"Fair enough," Mark says, because it is. Mark's got potatoes. And he's kinda sick of potatoes. "Food, you say? Free of charge, no potatoes guaranteed?"

Harry smiles, again. Looking all soft and ruggedly handsome. Mark wants to squish his body with his, for the sake of real human contact and all that jazz. Also maybe mash face for a bit, but Mark can hold up without that part if he has to.

Seriously what even is his life at this point.

"I'm sure we can manage something," Harry says and rises his eyebrows.

Mark nods, making up his mind. "Awesome," he says, and gets up off the ground.

If his legs are a little shaky, well, he's pretty sure Harry won't tell anyone.

NASA's so gonna freak. Mark can't wait.


End file.
